


forgotten by time

by advaevika



Category: Power Rangers, Power Rangers Ninja Storm
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:10:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5018749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/advaevika/pseuds/advaevika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s awkward, there’s no denying that, but a meeting like this was always going to be. What do you say to your friend after you’ve survived the end of the world- where do you begin, where did you end?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	forgotten by time

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [survivor's guilt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2299628) by [mcmeekin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcmeekin/pseuds/mcmeekin). 



He looks so different from the memory that Dustin has held on to all these years. His hair, longer, jaw thinner. His eyes are still the same dusty blue but they seem smaller, the hollowness of his cheeks carrying deep into the sockets. He smells almost exactly how Dustin remembered, leather, gasoline and dirt clinging to his skin. There’s something else, though, the tangy, bitter scent of clove cigarettes and something darker, smoother, like whiskey and honey, remnants of campfires on the beach and sleepless nights. 

A stab of some unknown, repressed hatred fills his gut. His smirk is Blake’s, his hair Tori’s. He has Shane’s posture and Cam’s quiet confidence. The little parts of them that he’s held on to all this time. 

He’s the Hunter he knew, but not the one he knows.

Dustin supposes he’s probably thinking the same thing. Wondering why his eternally shaggy hair is now so short, his bones so sharp. Dustin knows he has Shane’s smile. He sees Tori’s grace in his own movements, Cam’s influence in how he holds himself. He doesn’t ride his bike how he used to, he sits astride it like Blake, hard and low just how the brothers taught him. 

He wants to ask Hunter how he’s been, where he’s been, if he still sees their faces at night in his restless dreams. Dustin wants to ask him all these things and more, wants to question him until he’s blue in the face, talk until their tired bodies can talk no more. He tries, he tries so hard to form the right question in his mind.

“‘Sup, dude?” is all that comes out, fighting the tremors of anxiety buried under his skin.

To his credit, Hunter doesn’t flinch, shrugs his shoulders and smiles his sideways grin, eyes finally meeting Dustin’s.

“Not much, bro. I hear humanity is having a comeback tour.”

Dustin laughs, deep and real and rumbling in his chest. Laughs like he hasn’t laughed in a long time. They embrace like the friends they once were, hands clasped, pressed to warm chests. He hopes Hunter can’t feel his erratic heart quaking in his rib cage. 

It’s awkward, there’s no denying that, but a meeting like this was always going to be. What do you say to your friend after you’ve survived the end of the world- where do you begin, where did you end?

“I thought we could go for a ride,” Dustin smiles, it feels fake this time, a platitude to try and put them both at ease. They can both hear ‘like old times’ tacked on to the end of his sentence, even though neither one of them is ready to say it yet. 

“Sure, man. Sure.” 

There’s no talking while they ride, but they still communicate, pushing their bikes and minds far beyond the confines of Corinth, from any city that still stands. There’s an understanding that for now, they’re putting the past behind them, feeling the wind against their already battered bodies.

Riding this far and this hard takes Dustin back to the days when they’d do this for fun, all they cared about was shaving a few seconds off their time, not impending attacks or words unsaid.

Hunter’s the one who finally makes them stop, bike drifting in a wide curve. Dustin almost doesn’t notice, so focused on the seemingly unending landscape of dust before them. The sound of the throttle tips him off, the roar of Hunter’s engine disappearing from the chorus of mechanical noise. A sudden wave of loneliness hits him, not prepared to be left alone again. 

“Bro?”

“Dude.” Hunter’s pulling his helmet off, hair unkempt, soft sheen of sweat on his face. It’s both achingly familiar and terrifyingly foreign. “We’re like twenty minutes from the coast,” the confidence with which he says it makes Dustin think he’s taken this route before, that all this time they’ve not been matching pace, Hunter’s been leading him along a path he never knew existed. The same familiar feeling swirls in his gut as he pushes his visor up, holds his bike steady.

“Yeah?” Dustin thinks his voice might waver, adrenaline softening his mouth in his cotton candy head. He hasn’t pushed himself like this in a long time, not since-

“We should go.” There’s something like longing in Hunter’s voice. Dustin can’t say no. 

“Lead the way, man.” His visor is already back down. He doesn’t know what his face looks like, expressions no longer under his control. Hunter quickly complies, engine growling.

The sand kicks up under their tyres until it becomes difficult for them to keep momentum, throttles protesting as they try to push on. Eventually Dustin pulls off his helmet, cuts the ignition and waits for Hunter to do the same. There’s a moment of blissful quiet, Hunter’s engine still turning over before it slows to a halt. It’s like a memory that Dustin’s kept buried all this time, waiting for their bikes to quiet so they can compare times. 

“We’re gonna have to leave our bikes,” Dustin sighs, watching as Hunter shakes out his damp hair, “we could try and take them further but, dude, this rust bucket won’t be happy about it.”

“I’m gonna be honest, I’m surprised mine made it this far.” They don’t look at one another, eyes fixed on the watery horizon, the rise and fall of the waves audible without the sound of burning fuel. 

The sand absorbs the sound of their feet, the waves swallowing up the sound of their breathing. Dustin can feel the grains in his socks, weighing down his shoes. A few metres from the shore he flops down, pulling off his boots and emptying them in front of him. He lays back, cross legged and panting in the heat. The sea is an abyss in front of them, a watery paradise untouched by time. A few years ago this place would have been full of people; now its emptiness is almost eerie. 

“Dude, it’s beautiful out here,” Dustin breathes as Hunter sits beside him, upturning his boots and shaking them out. His shirt is stuck to his back, fiery warmth of the sun all but forgotten within their domed confine. 

“I’ve been meaning to come here for a while,” Hunter says, pensive, digging his toes into the hot sand, “but like, I’d get halfway and give up. Didn’t feel right, y’know?” Dustin nods, forcing beads of sweat down the sides of his face. He knows.

It feels strange to be here without Tori. The beach was always her stomping ground, and when she rode the waves she was queen of a glorious and powerful kingdom of which they could only dream. Even though she had taught them all to surf she still ruled here, more comfortable and graceful in the water than on land. “Kind of feels like she’s here with us,” Dustin finds himself whispering, fists curled and full of white hot earth. 

“I get that feeling all the time.” Their eyes meet and it’s sad, empty, but warm. A sense of understanding that only they can share. People can get close, but none as close as rangers.

“Losing them….it’s like I lost a part of myself,” as he talks Dustin feels like a weight is being lifted from his chest, “they were our squad, they were like family to me, dude. I kept thinking ‘why me’, I’m no great gift to the world. I’m not a leader like Shane, not smart like Cam-” 

“-can we not,” Hunter interrupts, looking away.

“Not what?” Dustin can feel the bitter taste of bile in the back of his throat, quiet anger rising through him. It feels like a betrayal of something they once had.

“I don’t want to talk about them, man. The past is in the past.” Dustin’s bones feel heated, face tense and almost disgusted. Hunter’s pulling his boots back on, ready to leave.

“I’m just trying to be honest,” he half-whispers, irritation softening his voice, “we should talk about them, they meant a lot-”

“-what do you want me to say, Dustin?” Hunter asks, affronted, aggressive and just how he remembers, never backing down, “do you want me to tell you my whole life story since you left the country and the world ended? Like, oh, hey Dustin, I kind of hate that you’re alive right now and none of our other friends are? But it’s cool, because I hate that I’m alive too, nothing personal bro.” His fists are tight now, shoulders squared and jaw clenching. “Is that what you want?”

“If that’s you being honest then yeah, dude, that’s what I want.” They’re both standing now and Dustin can feel himself mirroring Hunter’s anger, inching forward, ready to fight. “You can’t just act like they never existed.” Hunter scoffs and guilt swirls in his stomach, sickening and tight in his throat.

“They fucking _haunt_ me, dude. Like, I’ll go for a run or something and Shane’s there ahead of me, telling me to hurry my ass up. Or when I totally mess something up I can see Cam shaking his head at me like I’m an idiot. And Blake-” his voice cracks and Dustin’s throat is suddenly dry, “I don’t ride much, anymore. He’s always right beside me.” His eyes are red and his shoulders are shaking, but Hunter doesn’t cry, he grits his teeth harder, raises his head higher. “They should be here, but they’re not, and I am. Is that honest enough for you?”

“It’s not bad to remember them-” 

“-fuck you, man.” 

Dustin’s face burns hot, like lightning striking a tree, centered but radiating. Instinct takes over, his foot colliding with Hunter’s jaw, ducking low, his fist catching his mouth. The dark, wet spray of blood on his fingers pulls him, whiplash fast back into reality, just in time for Hunter’s kick to sink into his stomach, sending him sprawling into the sand, head grazing on the rough surface. 

“You always were more actions than words,” Dustin laughs bitterly, rubbing his forearm under his nose to catch the trickle of red, smearing it over his dusty skin.

“You always talked too much,” Hunter retorts, walking away, leaving him aching and alone, world spinning, staring up at the sky.

Dustin stays there until the ground feels more solid under his feet and the roar of Hunter’s bike has been washed away by the waves. He lets the salt of the sea lick at his bare toes and burn his bleeding skin. 

On his way back he buys a bottle of cheap liquor, caring more about the percentage than the taste as he puts on a certain red’s favourite movie and sprawls on his sofa, feeling like he’s lost something all over again and falling into a restless, tear-stained sleep.

 

\- -

 

Dustin thinks he must have forgotten to pay his rent again. 

The banging at his door is loud and ceaseless and he has no idea what time it is but it’s almost definitely later in the day than he intended to wake up.

“Dude,” Hunter says when he opens the door, and it takes Dustin a second to realise why he sounds so surprised. Then he remembers that he must look a state, purple black bruise blossoming on his cheek, temples grazed and red. He has whiskey breath and he’s still in yesterday’s clothes, sleep rumpled and haggard. 

“What do you want?” he snaps, only half awake, stuck in yesterday’s daydream. 

“I was a dick,” Hunter responds, almost bashful as he scratches the back of his neck when Dustin nods his assent, “I came to apologise, bro.” 

Dustin wishes he could stay mad, like that was ever something he could do. But Hunter’s standing in his doorway holding two coffee cups, lower left jaw struck stark red, licking at his split lip. He couldn’t hold a grudge before and he definitely can’t now. “Seriously, man, I knocked on like a thousand doors before someone told me which apartment you lived in.” 

He clings to his facade of annoyance for a few moments longer, raising an eyebrow and wincing slightly when the movement pulls at his tender skin. Hunter grimaces. 

“Let me make it up to you.” Now Hunter’s showing his shame, pink tint rising on his skin.

“Coffee’s a start.” Dustin sighs, trying to feign more irritation than he feels as he takes the cup.

“I can’t stay,” Hunter says, and Dustin’s stomach drops slightly, though he is grateful that he won’t have to hide behind the frame of his door much longer, “Can we meet later?” Dustin feels like he nods too quickly, too eager, but Hunter smiles, looking relieved. “I’ll pick you up at 9?”

“What are we doing?” Dustin asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

“There’s someplace I wanna show you, it’s cool dude, trust me.” 

\- -

Hunter shows up exactly when he said he would, his face is tired, strained, but when Dustin is done grabbing his jacket, locking the door, his face lifts and Dustin can tell it’s entirely for his benefit.

“Long day?” He asks, always unable to keep his mouth shut.

“The longest.” Dustin doesn’t push him any further, afraid of what will happen if he tries to force Hunter to open up again, the thought of not seeing him again outweighing his persistence.

“You never said where we’re going,” he fields in a lapse of conversation. They’ve been walking for a while through streets that Dustin doesn’t recognise, on the outskirts of the city where industry booms and only the workers stray.

“It’s not far, chill out,” Hunter laughs. “We do have to climb a wall, though.”

The wall in question is an easy scale and Dustin’s vaguely aware that they are probably breaking into private property, but Hunter never was one for rules and the thrill of it is a quiet hum that passes between them. 

Beyond the brick the ground is littered with stumps and saplings, and there’s a sparse smattering of trees, growing denser the longer they walk, quickly becoming a blanket around them. They stop in a small clearing, burnt-out fire pit at the centre surrounded by strategically placed logs. It’s serene and beautiful, it feels far away, almost otherworldly, like a small forest, hidden in the chaos of the city

“What is this place?” Dustin asks, eyes darting, trying to take in the strange, idyllic scene.

“Old logging company land,” Hunter answers, “some friends of mine showed me it. Pretty cool, right? Thought we could light the fire, have a few drinks-” he pulls a bottle of whiskey from his bag, mouth lilting into a smile, “-y’know, if you want.”

At first the dry heat of the fire is too heavy for the cool evening, but as night closes around them they inch ever closer, thankful for something tangible to warm them. The alcohol is a fire of its own in Dustin’s stomach, but the night chill still wracks shivers through him and eventually he succumbs, moves closer to Hunter so they don’t have to pass the bottle so far, he tells himself.

The night slips away with the whiskey, conversation becoming easier with each amber sip, inhibitions like elastic, pulled taught and snapping back ever looser.

“It reminds me of our old headquarters,” it’s a whisper, a secret that Hunter lets escape into the night. His eyes are empty, fire reflected in their damp rims. Dustin wants to reach out and touch him, bury his head in the musty warmth of his neck and breathe deep. Keep breathing until the fire is burnt out and the morning is upon them. Until they can pretend that their world hasn’t become the wistful, glowing embers. 

Their shoulders knock together and Hunter is cold against him. His head tilts as though he’s about to speak, but whatever ancient secrets he has stay hidden just behind his tongue. They both lean in, foreheads bumping, silent close stillness enough for just a moment. Then their lips are pressed together, soft and tight and more the past than the present. Hunter’s fingers skate slowly along his cheek and Dustin can feel their gentle touch on his bruised socket, the quiet, rusty tang of blood on his tongue as their mouths collide. Hunter’s jaw is rough and grazed under his touch, skin heated and tender. The emptiness and the cold forgotten, pushed aside by warmth and wanting. 

They move together so easily, it’s like something Dustin always felt, but never let himself want. Now it’s just them, alone. Dutch courage in their wandering hands, closer than they’ve been in this new world or any other. 

Hunter’s breath is heavy against his skin and Dustin’s head is swimming in an endless golden sea. They stay like this for longer than Dustin’s whiskey drenched limbs can keep count of, motionless in the wake of their impulse. Touching, but no longer connected.

“Hunter,” Dustin finally mouths, a breathy, quiet sound.

“Dude, I-” his words fade into the crackle of the fire as he leans back, breaking their tenuous hold. “It’s nice to remember, y’know?”

“But it still hurts.” Hunter nods, the movement small, like Dustin is a wild rabbit that he doesn’t want to startle. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out his cigarettes, offering the pack to Dustin. He takes one in his icy fingers, tries to convince himself he’s not shaking as they relax away from one another. Whatever it was, or wasn’t, has sunk down into the abyss, the sands of time that are the gulf between them. A wasteland that seems a little smaller every day. 

“I should make you dinner one of these days,” the bottle of whiskey is dwindling, but Hunter’s words are clear and sure, “I’m not judging you, man, but there were way too many instant meals at your place.” 

Dustin chuckles, unable to imagine Hunter cooking anything, let alone an actual meal. “Totally. I’m pretty sure there’s a fire extinguisher in the hallway.” He gets a gentle punch on the arm, which Hunter at least has the decency to look guilty about when Dustin winces away from it. 

“Hey, I can cook.” Dustin’s eyebrow raises involuntarily and Hunter wrinkles his nose, “No, really bro, I can cook. I do it all the time at the kid’s home and they never complain.”

“Kid’s home?” Dustin asks, aware of how little they’ve talked about their present, so wrapped up in their mutual past. 

“Yeah, man. I work there part time. There are a lot of kids without parents these days.” His smile is sad, a sigh for the days when he and Blake were just as lost, but Dustin beams at him. 

“That’s so cool! Like, you’re really helping people.” Hunter turns pink and his heart feels warm, more whole than it did before. “I’ve been teaching,” he imparts, trying to reciprocate Hunter’s willingness to share, “in like, an actual school and everything.” 

“I can’t believe they’d let you in one of those.” Hunter says, deadpan, until Dustin’s face shows a slight twist of offense and he winks, playfully nudging him. “Nah man, that’s really cool too.” His expression is bright and genuine, familiarly beautiful. In the morning Dustin offers to teach three more classes. 

 

\- -

 

It takes five more morning coffee meetings, two lunches and one hazy afternoon of beers in the sun with Hunter’s co-workers before Dustin brings up dinner. Their lapse of judgement has been forgotten in the trees, gone with the soft, plied night. It’s been almost two months since Hunter offered punch drunk and loose lipped, so Dustin’s cheeks are tinted before he’s even started talking. 

“You were talking big about what a great cook you were, what happened to my dinner, bro?” Dustin asks, trying to sound casual, looking more at the smeared vinyl table of the coffee shop than at Hunter.

“Aw man, I was hoping you’d forgotten about that!” Hunter jokes, smile infectious and bright. Dustin’s never been much of a morning person, and he wouldn’t have taken Hunter for one, but the number of times he’s shown up at Dustin’s door while he’s falling out the shower, sun barely over the horizon, is starting to convince him otherwise.

“You’re backing out then? That sucks, dude, I was totally looking forward to free food.”

“Is that a challenge?” Hunter asks, cocking an eyebrow, “because now I definitely have to cook for you.” Dustin smirks, secretly satisfied, leaning back his chair, taking a cigarette from Hunter’s pack, blowing smoke rings into the morning air.

“I don’t know, man. You really think you’re up to it?” he teases, an Irish coffee away from winking. “Tomorrow night, my place?” 

“You’re on.” Dustin nods, Hunter’s cocky smile bright in his eyes, making Dustin want to revel in the comfort forever, blow off work and pretend the world is new again. His phone angrily trills in his pocket, quickly destroying his daydream. 

“Shit, I gotta go,” he sighs, scowling at his phone, catching the disappointment in Hunter’s face half a beat before it’s replaced by his usual casual, relaxed expression.

“No worries, dude. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

\- -  
Hunter’s a hurricane in his kitchen, every counter covered in something. He’s found bowls Dustin didn’t even know he had and he has to admit he’s slightly impressed that nothing’s smoking yet. Retrieving a beer from the fridge is no mean feat with Hunter swatting at his hands, corralling him out. There’s no mistaking the familiarity in his touch, the ease with which they fall in step. There’s something squeezing and suffocating in Dustin’s chest, fear struggling against his hope, another shot, a second chance. 

For all Dustin’s reservations Hunter’s cooking is actually pretty good. He doesn’t have a proper table, and Hunter’s destruction still litters the counters, so they sit on the couch, knees knocking, bent over the coffee table. Youth tugs at Hunter’s mouth, spikes through their lonely insides.

It feels right to touch him, Hunter pressed against his side, shirt riding up over his belt, reaching over to steal food from Dustin’s plate. When Hunter looks up his eyes are hot, flickering to Dustin’s lips, down to his hand on Dustin’s thigh. There’s half a beat where Dustin doesn’t think he’s going to do it, Hunter’s going to pull away and leave him feeling guilty and cold. Hunter’s mouth is cheap beer and cigarettes, spice burning Dustin’s tongue. Over as quickly as it started, panic creeping into the corners of Hunter’s eyes. 

“I don’t know if I can do this do this.” It’s a defeated sigh as he runs a hand through his hair, catching knotted blonde strands in his wake, moving away.

“What are you talking about?” 

“This. Us.” Dustin feels like he’s choking. Hunter’s expression is pained, hand scrabbling at the back of his neck, like he’s reaching for the words there. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t.” It sounds like nothing to his ears, he wonders if Hunter even hears him, shaking his head and leaving Dustin alone on the couch.

The thumping in Dustin’s chest is strangling, embarrassed heat coursing its way through his body. He doesn’t speak as Hunter tidies his kitchen away, makes it seem like he was never there, like nothing happened. Hunter jokes, smiles, but the fist in Dustin’s throat is impossible to speak around. 

“Don’t leave,” Dustin finds himself saying, voice wavering against his will.

Hunter’s face falls, casual, feigned arrogance slipping away into nothing, and Dustin can feel his stomach clench, but the Hunter has stopped pulling his jacket on, hands limp by his sides.

“You can’t say things like that,” comes Hunter’s voice, distant, not sounding entirely his own, “you can’t say that when-”

“Why not?” Dustin interrupts. He can tell he’s probably shaking now, fisted hands the last of his resolve. He almost tells Hunter that he can’t stand to watch him leave again, not knowing if he’s going to come back. Almost lets slip the thoughts he’s been cramming into the back of his mind, that he’s waiting for the day when Hunter doesn’t return and he’s alone again.

Something changes on Hunter’s face, the tight lines at the corner of his eyes relax as he huffs out a breath, low, almost like laughter. 

“I’ll come back.” Hunter says, confident as he moves into Dustin’s personal space, close, still not touching. “Really.” 

Their mouths brush like summer wind, warm and soft and not quite enough to ease the heat. Hunter takes Dustin’s loose hand, brash but wary, pushing their connection further, linking them together as their kiss deepens.

Dustin’s pain and worry melts through his fingertips as he brushes his other hand up Hunter’s flank, reassured when he leans into the touch, moves closer. Dustin ends it, through reason or fear, shoving his hands into his pockets in a delayed show of embarrassment, trying not to smirk at Hunter’s pink cheeks and pinker lips.

“Shut up,” Hunter chastises, reading Dustin a little too well, shaking his head as he turns to leave, throwing one last look over his shoulder, “see you soon, dude.” 

\- -

Hunter starts coming to his place more, pretense of coffee, boredom or Dustin’s personal welfare, there’s always something. Dustin doesn’t mind that he feels like he has to have an excuse to come over, because now Hunter touches him, not heavy like before the world ended, but soft and sweeping, drawing him in instead of pulling. Sometimes they kiss, when one of them is feeling confident, when Dustin’s sleep sour and half awake, when Hunter leans back against the wall, guard down and eyes closed, when there’s blood seeping from their knuckles, their throats sore from shouting. 

The wounds that time has left are healed by the same means, an ache that becomes more vivid the closer they get.

One morning Hunter barges in, bag full of cleaning supplies, declaring that if Dustin’s going to be moving soon they really have to do something about the smell. Dustin knows he’s mostly joking, but he can’t deny that his bad habits leave his floor looking more like a dump than anything else. 

They start with Dustin’s horrendous kitchen-living space, Hunter opening the double doors to the barely-used excuse for a balcony, light breeze lifting Dustin’s sleep lulled lids.

“Man, have you ever cracked these things open when I’m not here? Fresh air does a hell of a lot, you know.” Dustin punches his arm, mumbling that this was Hunter’s idea so he should get to work instead of standing in the sun while Dustin removes the debris of his life from the floor. 

Progress is slow, Dustin’s place isn’t unclean but the mess alone takes an hour to sort out. By lunch they’re done with the main living area, sitting at the island counter eating sandwiches and shedding stuffy, unwanted layers. 

“So, do I get to go in your bedroom or is that some kind of shrine to a stink god of garbage? I sure as hell ain’t gonna touch your bathroom, I don’t wanna know what’s been growing in there.” 

“I’ll take the bathroom if you promise not to throw out any of my shit.” Hunter raises his eyebrow quizzically. “Those aren’t action figures, they’re fucking collectibles, bro,” Dustin continues, fearing for his beloved knickknacks, the few personal belongings he has left, “and don’t you look at me like that I know you used to collect rare bike parts.”

“Low blow, dude.” Hunter laughs, grabbing his backpack and opening it up on the counter. “Tell me, honestly, am I gonna need this?” The prop gas mask is child-sized and barely fits over Hunter’s head, but Dustin grins anyway, throwing a pair of rubber gloves at Hunter’s head.

“Shut up and get to work.” 

The bathroom probably isn’t as clean as it could be, but Dustin’s made his best attempt, so he considers the job done. The evening light is warm and calming, bathing Dustin in deep orange as he grabs a beer, sits out on his shitty, dusty balcony and waits for Hunter to emerge. The dusty heat is starting to send him to sleep when he hears a clattering sound.

Hunter comes out of Dustin’s room slowly, footsteps heavy on the carpeted floor, muscles tight with rage.

“Fuck you,” Hunter spits, hate dripping from the words, corners of his mouth curled up in a snarl. Dustin searches his face for some clue, peers into the room behind him, trying to figure out what he’s done to deserve this hostility. In his peripheral vision he sees what Hunter’s clutching in his hand.

Once, it would have been nothing, once it was something he had shoved into a bag, forgotten. Now it’s offensive, terrifying. There are seven smiling faces staring at him, four bright colours and years of pain. Dustin’s chest aches. 

“Hunter, I’m-” he starts, but Hunter’s not interested.

“You had to know this was in there,” he growls, and Dustin hasn’t seen him look like this in years, not since they were on opposite sides of a war that wasn’t their own, “you had to.”  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think there was-” it’s half-hearted, he doesn’t know what to say, and Hunter interrupts him easily, looking at him with such disgust that his words lose their way.

“What the fuck do you think this is? Is this a game to you, Dustin?” he’s shouting now, looking at Dustin like he’s repulsive. 

“I forgot about it.” It’s not the right thing to say, and Dustin knows it the second it comes out, Hunter recoiling, and turning away. He doesn’t know what to do, but it doesn’t really matter, because Hunter whips around, his knee in Dustin’s stomach, non-dominant fist to the side of his head. 

But Dustin’s not fighting anymore. He’s sick of fighting. Hunter telegraphs his blows, they’re easy for Dustin to dodge when he’s expecting them, when he’s not trying to hurt him back. “Stop,” he breathes, breath ragged, but Hunter’s been suffocating his rage for half his life, probably doesn’t even hear him. Dustin catches his fist, so Hunter tries with the other, picture still tight in his grip. There’s a shattering sound, glass raining down on the floor, over Dustin’s bare feet, slicing through Hunter’s palm. 

Hunter goes slack, staring at the floor, blood dripping from his fingertips. Dustin stays motionless, watches as Hunter turns his bloodied palm in confusion. It seems to have shocked him, as though, after all this time, Hunter can’t believe he can bleed like this anymore. Dustin backs up slowly, tries to act as though Hunter’s not feral, avoids the glass and doesn’t flinch at the fragments that have already dug their way into his flesh. 

The first-aid kit is in the bathroom, and Dustin doesn’t really want to leave Hunter- terrified he’ll bolt, half hoping he will- but his skin is burning and Hunter’s blood is starting to pool on the carpet, an unending flow of crimson from an unmoving hand.

He treats Hunter like he might a wounded animal, careful and slow, shocked by the pain but still dangerous. He winces when Dustin pulls the shard from his skin, but he still doesn’t move, no ripples or tides in the handful of blood he holds. A sharp hiss sneaks through his teeth at the antiseptic dousing the wound, the first sound he’s made in an immeasurable amount of time, and Dustin chances a look. Hunter looks scared. He can’t imagine how he looks in comparison.

The white of the bandage is so close to the colour of his skin, drained and cold. Dustin makes sure to keep his contact gentle, fastens it as tight as he can, pushing on Hunter’s fingers. He feels guilty when Hunter’s jaw tightens, teeth clenching, but he’s satisfied that everything’s still working, nerves frayed, but not in his hand. 

Hunter catches him when he goes to take his hand away, muscles working even harder against the pain. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” Hunter whispers, words slow and gravelly, body swaying slightly. His hand skitters up Dustin’s arm, dragging on the already closing scratches, smearing red stripes on his skin. Hunter’s jaw is clenched, his anger morphed to guilt, fingers resting softly at the base of Dustin’s neck. 

Hunter’s mouth is tentative, it speaks the apology that his vocal chords can’t, and Dustin doesn’t care if he’s unpredictable or wounded, because he’s Hunter, he knows him, he knows that this isn’t all he is. So he leans into the kiss, careful, hoping. 

“I’m making so many mistakes,” it’s a rasp from a raw throat, “I can’t afford to, I-” Hunter stops, eyebrows drawn together, forcing out the honesty that Dustin wants, that fights to stay buried. “I can’t lose you. You’re all I have left.” It unmans him, and Dustin feels like he’s choking, heart too fast, eyes burning. “Don’t cry,” Hunter whispers, soft and slow, catching on rough edges, fingers rounding Dustin’s jaw, wiping at tears he was trying desperately to hide. It’s corny and stupid, it makes Dustin feel sick, throat tight and unmoving until lips brush his own, firm, reassuring, but he can’t fight the venom in his blood. 

“One of us should be able to,” it’s bitter and cruel, but Dustin’s done pretending to be fine with all of this, he’s been tired for years and he aches from the effort. It doesn’t stop him from feeling guilty when Hunter grimaces, stepping back.

“You’re right.”

The words hang in the air and some small, young part of Dustin wants to fist pump like he’s on the winning team. It’s not a victory, but it feels like one. Despite Hunter’s broken expression, eyes not leaving the ground, focused on the small, dark stain of his blood. Dustin almost wishes he hadn’t said anything, wishes he could keep his mouth in check for one goddamn minute, but Hunter helps him pick the glass from his feet, curls around him, chest pressed to his back, crushed on to the tiny sofa, thumbs stroking over his forearms until sleep finds them.

In the morning, Hunter is gone. 

Dustin doesn’t cry, doesn’t let himself feel the loss of something he’s not sure he ever had. He scrubs the blood from the floor, from his arms, his feet, stays under the spray of the shower long after the water runs clear, trying not to see his past and his failure washing down the drain, rumination cut short by persistent knocking. 

Hunter looks bashful and shy when Dustin answers the door, shoving the small rectangular object into Dustin’s hands, not meeting his eyes. 

“I know I didn’t- I’m not very good at this, I, uh,” he’s babbling and Dustin doesn’t know what to think, to feel. 

The frame is sturdy, wooden, and there’s a small, rusty red smear in one corner of the picture, but as he takes in the faces that look up at him, bright and hopeful, he finds himself mirroring their smiles. 

“I’m sorry.” The words sound foreign coming from Hunter’s mouth, but it’s sincere, the apprehension clear on his face. Dustin kisses him, pushes away his fear, slips his tongue between parted lips, Hunter’s hands tight on his hip and in his hair. “I’m so sorry.” He’s more confident with it now, holding Dustin’s free hand in both of his, bandage stark against their skin.

“It’s okay,” Dustin says, because it is, because it has to be, because they’re all either of them has left. Because, no matter how time has hurt and twisted them, they’re still the same. “Just- you can’t leave without telling me, I-” Dustin tries to smile, smothering the panic that still stings in his head

“I said I didn’t know what I was doing- it’s been a while since I tried this whole dating thing.”

“Is that what we’re doing now?” Dustin asks, heart tight and fluttering, entertained by the blush that spreads over Hunter’s cheeks and neck.

“I thought we had been for a while,” his laugh is embarrassed and sweet, slightly ashamed, and Dustin grips his hand tighter, mindful of the fresh wound held between them. “Guess we should act like it, huh?” Their mouths are more heated this time, Hunter walking Dustin backwards into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind them. He reciprocates Hunter’s fervor, nipping at his neck, hands slung low on his waist.

The corners of the frame dig into his hand, and Dustin thinks Hunter must feel him still holding it, because he breaks away, silently amused. “Careful with that,” he smirks, pushing Dustin’s hair back from his face, kissing his jaw, “wouldn’t want it broken again.” 

He places it on the table, face down, Hunter quirking his head in confusion. “They don’t need to see this, dude” Dustin jokes, Hunter’s low laugh reverberating through both of their chests. 

\- - 

The fights don’t stop, they never stop completely; they’ll always remember, unwilling to let go. They get easier, quieter and less frequent.

When Hunter sees the skate stickers on Dustin’s helmet that were a gift from Shane he doesn’t ask him why it’s there, out in the open, there’s no bitter aggression that Dustin refuses to hide the past. He smiles, whispers that Shane was being a real bro giving Dustin something to hide the scuff marks from failed stunts, brushes their shoulders together and kisses his temple, calls him an idiot. 

If there’s ever a moment where Hunter stops mid-sentence, seconds away from mentioning one of their friends, Dustin doesn’t get annoyed that he struggles to acknowledge their existence, he smirks, tells Hunter he knows, maybe they can talk about it later. And they do, they recant their history in fragments, their past slowly becoming one again. They still shout, but they punch walls instead of each other. They drink together instead of alone. 

_‘Why wasn’t I there’_ one of them will mutter, tendrils of guilt still rooted in their hearts, but the answer comes easy now, a small comfort to joined bodies.

 _‘If you were, you wouldn’t be here’_.

There was a time when Dustin thought that was what he wanted, to be with his friends, not alone in a new world he didn’t want. Hunter tells him about those last few days, voice never above a whisper. Hunter’s glad he has someone to tell. Dustin is grateful he’s still there to speak, to listen. They no longer wake up in a blind panic, worried they’ll be alone again. 

Five months into Dustin’s apartment searching Hunter invites him out for lunch. It’s slightly bizarre, how formal the request is, but Dustin thinks little of it.

They’re eating outside, Hunter strangely silent, blowing plumes of smoke up into the brilliantly clear sky. Dustin’s grumbling about his neighbours when Hunter distracts him, face pensive and distant.

“What’s up, dude?”

“You know, you could move into my place.” He says it so casually and offhand that it throws Dustin for a moment, quizzical expression affixing itself to his face. “Just a thought,” Hunter backtracks in the quiet, looking out at the children playing in the nearby park, his cigarette, the strangers passing by- anywhere but Dustin.

“Are you serious?” Dustin asks, trying not to sound as surprised as he feels.

“Sure, I mean, it’s a big apartment and-”

“Yeah,” Dustin says, hiding his smile in his drink, watching Hunter carefully. 

His eyes lift, he looks Dustin straight in the eye, smiles, casual as only he can be. “Alright.”

\- -

It takes time, but Dustin stops seeing Blake’s smirk, he sees the twisted smile that Hunter always had. His hair isn’t Tori’s, it’s the sun bleached blonde it was the first day they met. Cam’s confidence gives way to the vaguely concealed, self-assured Hunter he knew before. It’s not Shane’s posture, but a man who has grown into his own skin. 

They’re all still there, under the surface, a subtle inflection in a word or movement, but they are Hunter, who he has become. Who they have both become. Reflections of their friends, magnifications of the boys they once were. 

They go back to the beach, eventually. They’re not alone this time, Dustin arranges with his colleagues to bring some of the kids from his school, the ones from Hunter’s home, children who have never seen the sea.

They’re over-excited, a nightmare to wrangle, but when Hunter offers to tell them a story they gather around, enthralled.

“You guys know who the Power Rangers are, right?” he asks, faces lighting up, settling into their cross legged positions. “Let me tell you a secret- I knew some of them.” Half the kids gasp, there’s excited giggling and whispers, Dustin grinning as he watches. Hunter tells their story, argues with the louder children about how much better ‘his’ rangers were, shocks them when he says his yellow was male, younger than Dustin’s see him look in years. 

Hunter catches his eyes, somehow excuses himself from the circle, casually taking Dustin’s hand. “Are you okay? I don’t really want to have to try and explain to them why their beloved Mr. Brooks looks like a kicked puppy.” Hunter rubs the back of his hand across Dustin’s cheek and he’s slightly shocked when it comes away damp. 

“The crimson ranger was the coolest, really, dude?” Dustin asks, smirking, trying to reassure Hunter that he’s fine. The tears sneak up on him less, now.

“Hey, I think he was pretty cool!” He stifles his laughter at Hunter’s mock offense, 

“I liked the part about the goofy yellow ranger,” Dustin whispers, wary of attracting any attention, peering at Hunter through matted lashes. 

“I like that goofy yellow ranger,” Hunter smiles, ducking his head, pulling back when one of the teachers shouts _‘kids!’_ and chastising them, chuckling at Dustin’s sigh, rolling his eyes. “Sea?” he asks, and Dustin raises an eyebrow, because what else are they here for. 

They’re not in the water five minutes before Hunter’s splashing at him, entertained trills of laughter coming from the sand. Dustin manages to push Hunter over, but he grabs Dustin by the waist, hands maybe slipping a little too low, pulling him down into the shallows. He manages to wriggle free, falling on his ass in the process, and Hunter laughs, uncontrolled, entire body moving with the sound as he helps Dustin up. 

“I’m glad we came back,” Dustin mumbles, half to himself, half to the tide, but Hunter hears, wet arms circling his waist from behind, hooking his head over Dustin’s shoulder, two sets of eyes staring out at the horizon.

“It almost feels like home,” Hunter says, their lips catch, salty and warm, bodies close. Dustin can hear one of his colleagues complaining again and they break apart, smiling and laughing, hands still entwined.


End file.
